


Steinbeck’s Curse

by Winterstar



Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-15
Updated: 2011-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-31 22:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3995023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterstar/pseuds/Winterstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter reacts badly to the events in ‘Countdown’. Neal pays the price. Will their friendship survive? For the kidnapped square on my hc_bingo card.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Steinbeck’s Curse

A/N: The title derives from the conclusion of 'The Pearl' by John Steinbeck.

The knuckles of the fist deform as it collides against the solidity of a jaw. The impact whips the head to the left and causes the skull to smash into the wall, leaving a dent in the plaster. It takes only seconds to hit again with a left hook to the ribcage as the right hand opens and presses against the windpipe, fingers scratching into flesh. It is a boxer’s dance with elegance and grotesque perfection, yet it cannot end the way he wishes it to, it cannot end with death. Hands grab hold of the swinging arms; the prey collapses and falls to the floor. A last kick to the side of his victim’s head sails him into another ocean of rage. He wants him dead, he spits at the man lying in a heap in his vestibule. He hates him.

“Boss, boss,” Diana’s voice centers him and he blinks trying to focus, trying to bring reality back into place. It can never be that way again. His wife is gone. His partner has betrayed him; the game of cat and mouse has become a macabre one of life and death. It isn’t fun anymore; it isn’t about the final score.

Crowds of people stand around him. He isn’t sure who is talking or if he wants to listen to them. He hears the ringing of the damned cell phone lying on his dashboard again and again in his head. The voice of Keller mocking him on the phone with his wife’s words blares over what they are telling him. Facts and assurances flood over him, but he can only hear Keller and see that damned face.

It is not Keller’s face, but Neal’s that he sees, that he knows he will dream of in nightmares. He curses the man again while Diana pushes him down into a chair and leans over him, her hand pushing against his shoulder to keep him in place. She speaks to him but the words wash over him and he doesn’t want to listen. They will contaminate his memories. He only wants to think about the last time he spoke with his wife, he doesn’t want to hear anything else. It will make it all too real, too focused, too much his life – this new life. The life where Elizabeth has been taken.

Even as he tries to hear only the words of his wife in his head, Keller’s voice drowns him. Neal has the treasure. Keller has seen it. Get the treasure, get your wife. He shoves at Diana and leaps up from his chair.

“Neal?” Peter calls out but Neal isn’t there.

Agents sweep around, looking for the missing con-man, but Peter knows they will not find him. It has always been Peter’s mission, his sole curse to find Neal Caffrey. He closes his eyes and knows what he needs to do to end this, to end it for all of them.

PART 2  
He stumbles into the warehouse. He doesn’t remember how he got there, just that there is a pain in his head and his ribs ache as he works the lock. It takes only moments for him to pick it and let himself slide into the dark shadows of the building.

What once was, though is lost to him as he stares at the empty surroundings. He should have known better. Mozzie had 48 hours to clean out the warehouse as they pulled off the switch with the Degas. The echo of his shoes against the concrete floor scrapes against his eardrums. There is nothing here to save her.

He crumples to the floor and sits. He wonders if he can just forget and run, but the anklet still blinks on his leg. It laughs at him. Part of his mind is racing ahead, figuring out the next move, yet the other part – the stronger part – wants to just wait until they come and get him. The agents will follow him here and take him a way, lock him away forever. Elizabeth will die and Neal will be forgotten. Maybe it would be better that way.

A glimmer catches his eye as he gazes at the floor. It is a small cushion, no larger than his palm. Sitting on the white satin pillow is a single large pearl. It is the largest pearl Neal has ever seen. It is a message from Mozzie. He is quoting Steinbeck, though he leaves no words for Neal to hear. The pearl was a blessing and a curse. It led to the destruction of a family, destruction of dreams. The treasure is both as well, for Neal.

He reaches for it, but sways and tumbles to the floor. He hits his chin on the concrete. He staggers to get to his feet, finds he cannot and then notices his nose is bleeding. Lifting his hand to his face, Neal wipes away the blood but it keeps coming – a river of red down his shirt, over his hands and pooling on the floor. He gags as he tastes the blood, but cannot make his arms and legs work. He tips over, his fingers inches from the pearl. The blood runs and stains the pearl as he lies silent in the darkened warehouse.

PART 3  
Peter bends over in the plastic chair in the hospital room. Not thirty hours ago, he would have imagined sitting here waiting to know about Elizabeth. She stands next to him, her arms draped over his shoulders and he leans his elbows on his knees. She is safe; she shields him from the reality of himself as he glances up at the hospital bed.

The vigil he holds is not for his wife, but for his once partner, possible friend, Neal Caffrey. They found him not an hour after he’d gone missing from Peter’s house. He was in an empty warehouse, barely conscious. As the paramedics worked on him, he woke up enough to tell them the password for his laptop. It wasn’t difficult to access and finally they watched on the archived feed, the treasure being packed and stored. It was the final stroke that told them where Mozzie would be. He raised the pearl to the camera then placed it gently on the cushion. Before they took Neal in for surgery, he decoded the message for them. While Neal was a romantic, Mozzie was a realist. He’d come to a conclusion about the treasure. It was a blessing and a curse for both of them. Though Mozzie stayed out of sight, the treasure reappeared for them to use it as leverage to flush Keller out. Mozzie disappeared, but his parting gift was Elizabeth’s safety.

The post-recovery from the brain hemorrhage frightens Peter. The vitality he has always associated with Neal has withered away in the hospital bed. They don’t know how much brain damage Neal suffered, what kind of traumatic brain injury he might face. For the first time, Peter realizes he cannot lose the essence of who Neal is – the confidence man. If he loses that, then who is Neal? He’d once told Neal he could be a con or a man not both, he knows now he was an arrogant idiot for saying that to Neal.

Arrogance is a badge of honor for Peter. After all instead of investigating the explosion at the u-boat, Peter made the leap it was Neal’s master plan. He never went farther to figure anything out. He assumed and through assumption left Neal as a sail without a mast in the storm. He offered advice and led Neal but when the cards fell in dizzying patterns around him, Peter pointed fingers. He didn’t put the building blocks together of the case – ignored the fact that Neal was with Peter most of the night before the explosion, his tracking data never showed him close to the u-boat. Though that would not have stopped Neal from stealing the treasure, it should have brought questions to Peter’s mind. It should have given him pause.

Peter knows it is that same arrogance that begs silently for Neal to wake up, to be healed, to hear his apology. He looks into the dim lights of the hospital room, at the bed and knows he asks too much.

PART 4  
Five weeks after the kidnapping of Elizabeth Burke, Neal sits on the terrace at June’s house. The cool Autumn breeze causes him to pull the robe closer to him, tightening the ties. He fingers the large shaved area on his scalp, the hair is prickling as it grows back. At night the itching reminds him of his sins, and he lies awake listening to the pain in his skull. They say he will have headaches for days, weeks, months or years to come. He knows the headaches have nothing to do with the brain bleed and everything to do with his transgressions.

He is at fault – for everything.

He listened to Mozzie years ago to strike at Adler. He stole Kate away from her Chicago bound boyfriend. He made the wrong connections when he agreed to play the game with Keller. He spoke half truths when he looked Peter in the eye and denied knowledge of the treasure. Kate died, Mozzie was shot, Elizabeth was kidnapped. He tries not to think of all the collateral damage.

Peter is collateral damage.

He moves to pick up the china teacup with Italian roast freshly brewed contained within it. The coffee slops to the side and drips down to stain the satin robe he wears, one of Bryon’s. He doesn’t even have his own clothes. He is a lie, a thief, a con-man and an invention. There is nothing about him that is real. He is not even sure he is real.

His hand shakes as he places the cup back on the table and goes to reach for a napkin to clean up the mess.

“Here.” A hand offers him a cloth napkin.

It is a linen, embroidered with dragon flies.

Glancing up, he sees Peter standing over him with the napkin in hand. Neal accepts the offer but doesn’t say anything, only nods.

Both are silent for the moments it takes for Neal to blot out the mess on his leg and the robe. Peter takes the stained napkin away and points to the chair next to Neal’s seat. He doesn’t say yes or no, Peter sits anyway. He doesn’t pour himself coffee, though there is an empty cup in front of him.

“I want to say something, Neal,” Peter says and folds his hands on the table, leaning toward Neal. “I’m not going to give this a whole preamble, I don’t think it needs it. I think only one thing needs to be said.”

Neal steals the words from Peter. “I’m sorry.”

Peter bows his head then looks at the skyline. “No, Neal, you don’t get to do this. This is my apology.”

Neal laughs a bit, but it hurts his head so he stops. “Always the righteous one.”

“What?” Peter turns back to stare at Neal.

“You always have to do what’s right, always. No matter what.” Neal shakes his head and the terrace tilts like he is on an amusement park ride; it takes him a moment to balance out the world again. “For once, can you let me do what is right?”

The words reverberate on the wide expanse of the terrace. Neal watches as Peter recognizes the truth of what he has stated. Peter is too used to setting and winding up the trap for Neal; he’s never allowed Neal to do the right thing, to walk the straight line. He inhales once and lets it out slowly as if he is readying himself for a full frontal assault.

“Okay, okay. The floor is yours.”

Neal smiles, but it hurts deep in his bones. His bones, his tissues, his brain is weary. “I’m sorry. For everything. For nothing, but most of all I’m sorry this happened to us.”

Somehow the teacup closest to Peter shatters. Peter’s hand holds a smattering of the shards as he looks at Neal. There are little beads of blood peppering Peter’s palms. Neal pulls another napkin from the table and picks off the sharp pieces and cleans away the blood as Peter stays frozen.

“I’m sorry,” Neal says, but no tears come. He was never one to break down into puddles of emotion, but his heart rams his chest so that he thinks he will never draw another breathe until Peter speaks.

As Neal finishes cleaning away the tiny bits of blood, Peter grasps his hand and says, “I know.”

THE END


End file.
